"To Zambia?""Yes.""By cycle?""Yes.""No!""Yes.""I do not believe you!""It is true.""Eh!"The Botswanan border guard's final exclamation is my favourite in Africa. The 'eh!' is a high-pitched squeak of semi-sincere disbelief. The more profound the disbelief, the higher the pitch. This amusing utterance acted as a partial salve for the following warning, shouted at my back as I pedalled away from the border:"Beware the lions - they will eat you up."

Two months off the bike: Cape Town, summer, friends, food, wine, an 80p/hour bartending job, beaches, the sad theft of my bicycle "Old Geoff" (a hardy veteran of 50 countries and 34,000 miles), the building of a new bike.

Location: Cape Town, South Africa Day 1,289 Miles on the clock: 34,370 “You! Where is your helmet?” “I don’t have one.” “It is law. You must wear a helmet.” “Are you sure that’s the law?” “Yes…I think so. Umm…ah ha! Your front tire is too bald. It is illegally bald! You must change it now.” “Yes. I will. Thank you for your concern. Have a nice day sir.” “Yes, yes, and you sir. Goodbye”

On my journey through Swaziland, I had been stopped by a policeman. With pride more or less intact on both sides, we parted.

Location: Mafutseni, Swaziland
Day 1,241
Miles on the clock: 32,945Sebastian is five. He is walking along the dusty verge of the road with a five-litre container of water held stable on his head with his left hand. His little sister’s hand is grasped firmly in his right. It is hot and the diminutive pair plod slowly in the wake of their mother who has a yellow, ‘Made in China’ water container on her head. It weighs 20kg but she needs no hands to steady it. Her long-practiced, smooth gait is second nature and her muscular neck is comfortably rigid; perfectly straight. She also has a baby tightly tied to her lower back with a sheet of cotton, the colourful patterns now faded.

Location: Maputo, Mozambique Day 1,223 Miles on the clock: 32,810 The no man’s land between the Burundian and Tanzanian border posts was 15 miles of hilly mud tracks passing several UNHCR refugee camps built to house people escaping the violence over the nearby Congolese border. Emaciated men ferried back and forth with heavy bicycle loads of plantain, maize flour or water.